


The Feast

by Tiofrean



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Boys In Love, Developing Relationship, Dinner, Faramir Has To Deal, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Legolas Being a Smartass, M/M, Someone Help Them, The Fellowship Humanizes The King, hobbits being hobbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 07:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18806668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: The halls of the citadel had been too gloomy for far too long, and in a way, Faramir was glad that his father was no more. King Elessar had brought with him not only new hope, but also new people, new customs, and a huge dose of new energy, which was almost a separate entity in and of itself.In which Faramir sees another side of his king, and news are revealed in darkened hallways.





	The Feast

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to MermaidSheenaz for encouraging me to write it, agonizing over hopeless Aragorn and the sweet cinnamon roll Faramir. And betaing it afterwards! All remaining mistakes are on me. 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Faramir had never seen so many guests in the dining hall in his whole life. 

It was a month after the War of the Ring, everyone seemed to be settling in slowly, and the king had decided to hold a feast to celebrate the end of summer. Faramir, being the Steward of Gondor, had agreed readily. They had grieved their dead ones, they had started to restore the city… what they needed now was  a wee bit of shared enjoyment to propel forth their elaborate plans for the future. And so, a feast had been arranged, and people from all over Gondor had been invited. There was enough space in Minas Tirith to accommodate a few additional travelers, too. 

Faramir smiled, looking to his left, seeing Merry and Pippin sitting right next to him, followed by Sam and Frodo. The steward was seated right next to Elessar, and on the King’s right side there was Mithrandir and Legolas, hand in hand with Gimli. Next, there were Éowyn and Éomer, laughing at something Gimli had said, helping himself in his explanations with elaborate gestures. Other guests were seated at different tables, busy eating and celebrating. Faramir could not help but smile, seeing those merry, almost shining people.  The halls of the citadel had been too gloomy for far too long, and in a way, Faramir was glad that his father was no more. King Elessar had brought with him not only new hope, but also new people, new customs, and a huge dose of new energy, which was almost a separate entity in and of itself. The whole city absolutely vibrated with it, almost as if it had been the object of some positive magical spell. 

Still smiling, Faramir let his gaze travel to the king sitting right next to him. Aragorn had his eyes half-closed in mirth, his lips stretched wide in a wild grin, his whole posture shaking with laughter.    
“Truly, Gandalf, it cannot be!” Aragorn wheezed, setting his cup back on the table, afraid he would spill the wine within otherwise. Gandalf nodded solemnly, but his mouth was curling up just a little, betraying his amusement.    
“Oh, believe me Aragorn, this is as true as the one time the Hobbits tried wearing shoes. They could not take a step,” the wizard recalled, puffing his pipe thoughtfully, before his eyes lost their dreamy quality and turned mischievous again. “Of course, even if the shoes were quickly forgotten, the tales of that day will remain, weaved into heroic songs for the future generations to sing…”    
“What,  _ the story about big feet?”  _   
“Starting off on the wrong foot,” Mithrandir said levelly, and Aragorn could not help the hiccuping laugh that overtook him, the others joining soon after.

“Really, Gandalf,” Pippin said, sending the wizard a meaningful look across the table. “This story is neither entertaining, nor interesting…”   
“Yes!” Merry interjected. “Maybe we should talk instead about your adventures as the envoy in Mirkwood?” He asked innocently, smiling sweetly at the wizard. Gandalf frowned.    
“Do you mean the time when I had to change my looks?”   
“You were quite a changed man, my dear friend! I would even say a changed wom-”    
“Enough!” Gandalf boomed, making Aragorn snort out the wine he had just started to sip. Spluttering, he hurriedly grabbed a napkin lying nearby and pressed it to his nose, throwing a glare Merry’s way.    
“Truly,” Aragorn started, pausing mid-way to blow the rest of the wine from his nose. “I do not think that making me waste a sip of this fine drink is wise,” he said, chuckling, a smile playing on his lips. 

Faramir gasped in shock - his father would have those people banished, had he been sitting in Aragorn’s place. 

King Elessar was everything Gondor had ever needed… and  _ more, _ if he dared to say so. Aragorn was not only kind-hearted and peaceful, he had spent his childhood with Elves and was incredibly well-educated. This, in addition to his quick wits and deep-running wisdom, made for a very good ruler, indeed. He was very charming, too - an easy feat when someone was as handsome as their king was. Even with wine flowing down his face, barely holding his laughter in, Elessar was one of the finest men Faramir had ever seen… And he  _ had _ looked, how could he not, when men were to him far more interesting than women? Aragorn was beautiful, and, Faramir thought, even if he could not hope for anything more than a friendly embrace from his king, he would be very content till he drew his last breath. He dared not wish for more,  aware that his desires were best inspected in solitarity , with heavy furs shielding his hands wandering over his own body from the world around him. 

He glanced at Aragorn again, noticing that there was still a little bit of wine wetting the king’s beard. It gleamed like crystals in the candlelight, complementing Aragorn’s glittering eyes perfectly. Faramir watched Aragorn shake his head in amusement, his own eyes glued to the wet hair at the royal chin, before he scolded himself mentally.  _ No matter the images your mind conjures up, Faramir, the wine has to go. _

“Sire,” he said loudly, aware that he had to speak over Merry and Legolas talking in excited voices. About what, Faramir did not know, too busy watching Aragorn turn his eyes to him. _Oh how lucky he was that Aragorn decided to keep him as the steward… it allowed him to sit so close to his king, and…_  
“Yes?” Aragorn asked, and Faramir had to take a deep breath to calm himself. _Surely, it was impossible to sit so close to Gondor’s own sun and not get a burn?_   
“Excuse me, my lord, but you still have…” He gestured around his own chin, demonstrating what he meant. “Some wine.”   
“Oh.” Aragorn looked down making a face, as if he could actually see what his steward was talking about, before he brought the napkin up again and rubbed at his chin hurriedly. 

“Better now?” He asked once he was done, raising his eyebrows at Faramir. The young man nodded, too awestruck to reply properly.    
“Don’t bother, Faramir,” Pippin said next to him, taking a bite of a roasted leg of…  _ something  _ \- Faramir was not sure what that had been before, only that it looked quite delicious.    
“I am sorry?”    
“Strider cares little about his appearance. A little bit of wine won’t hurt him, surely,” the Hobbit supplied, shrugging.    
“Actually, I think it’s an improvement,” Merry joined, pouring himself another cup of said wine. “It smells better than whatever it was he used while bathing during our travel.” 

Faramir almost inhaled his own tongue.  _ Do they have no manners? It is the king they are talking about! How can th- _

“Well, not everyone uses oils and herbs straight from Mirkwood, like our Elven Prince here,” Aragorn cut in, wriggling his eyebrows at Legolas. The Elf scoffed.    
“You could have asked,  _ my king, _ and I would have shared them with you gladly,” Legolas replied, then looked at Gimli.    
“Aye, our lad here is right, Aragorn. He did share them with me, after all.”    
“He shared a few braiding techniques, too, if I recall correctly,” Aragorn said, with a wide, very charming smile.    
“Now, wait a mo-” Gimli started, raising his hand up defensively, but Legolas interrupted him swiftly.    
“Don’t trouble yourself, Gimli. Aragorn is just trying to get the upper hand, because he knows we are aware of how hard it was to get him to bathe,” the Prince of Mirkwood said, smirking mischievously. Aragorn groaned in exasperation.    
“Not this again…” 

But Legolas was not listening, already turning to the very interested-looking Sam and Frodo.    
“You two were already gone, we had a brief stay in Rohan… Aragorn had convinced king Theoden that it would be good to rest for some time, in case Gondor needed help.” Here, Legolas looked conspiratorially at Éowyn, getting a snicker from her. He went on. 

“Theoden was not happy about the idea and he made a huge argument out of it one evening. After a few words too many were said, Aragorn went out to cool down a bit. In the morning, we found him in the stables, sleeping next to one of the newborn foals,” Legolas reminisced, and Aragorn groaned loudly, rolling his eyes and huffing, irritated. Faramir’s gaze shifted between his king and the amused elf, helplessly following the story.  His mind craved every bit of information he could get on Elessar, but his heart despised the grumpy look that was creeping over Aragorn’s features. 

“It was the day we had heard about a band of orcs harassing a village nearby,” the Elf went on, grinning like a fool. “We decided that something had to be done, before too many good people would need to be put into the ground. We woke Aragorn up, explained to him what was happening…”    
“In a blink of an eye,” Gimli joined the storytelling, giggling every few words, his hands thrown up in the air. “Aragorn was running to grab a saddle, intent on mustering one of the horses, looking frantically for his sword.”    
“It was a considerable danger the people were in,” Aragorn grumbled under his breath.    
“Aye, it was,” the Dwarf agreed with a nod. “I think it would explain why you were ready to ride out covered in… what on Mahal  _ was _ he covered with, Legolas?”    
“I do believe that was a mix of a horse’s bodily fluids and some hay sticking to him, my dear,” Legolas supplied innocently, grinning. Aragorn sighed. 

“People were in danger!” The king argued loudly, and his companions snickered.    
“Oh yes! It was such a shame that the horse you tried to saddle did not consider that, trying to get away from you!” The Elf reminded him, choking the last few words out, his whole body shaking with laughter.    
“Oh, excuse me for not paying attention to the way I smelled after helping the mares deliver two foals the evening before,” Aragorn scoffed, then sipped from his wine. Faramir stared at him dumbly, his mouth gaping. 

_ The king was not only brave and wise - and incredibly handsome - but he was good with animals, too? What did Gondor do to be rewarded such a fine gem as its ruler?  _

“Anyway,” Legolas said, wheezing a little. “The point is, we tried to get him to bathe, but he refused, and only did so after the fight was done. I believe his smell had scared off half of that orc band, so it was for the better, really.”    
“Aye!” Gimli nodded seriously next to him. “It is good he bathes more regularly now, though. It would be a shame to scare away his council members…”    
“Eru forbid Faramir would be discouraged to be the steward,” Legolas said, faking a dramatic shudder. “Our poor Aragorn here would not know how to rule the kingdom if he was gone.” Saying that, he turned to Faramir and winked at him, a smirk evident on his lips. Faramir coughed, feeling himself blush.

“I will have you know that water here is excellent,” Aragorn said indignantly, pouting a little. Gandalf snorted next to him, while Legolas raised his eyebrows questioningly.    
“Are scissors excellent here, too? Because I am yet to see a proof of it. Your beard looks horrible,” he pointed out, to Gimli’s amusement.    
“Our lad here is right, Aragorn. Your beard could use a little trim…”   
“Maybe then,” Pippin said, matter-of-factly, “Faramir would turn a kinder eye on you, your highness.” He concluded, shrugging. Legolas laughed aloud. Faramir frantically searched his mind for something to say - thankfully, Elessar helped the situation.

Aragorn gave a weak groan and rubbed at his face tiredly.   
“Pippin, please… you do not have to use my title here. Especially _not_ when you are making fun of me,” he muttered, sighing dramatically.   
“It’s alright, my lord, I don’t mind. I think it actually suits you, doesn’t it, Merry?” He asked, turning to his cousin. Merry nodded enthusiastically.   
“Oh definitely, _your royal highness!”_   
“Your high royalness!” Pippin exclaimed, making the rest at the table laugh heartily \- even Éowyn and Eomer hid their faces behind their hands snickering loudly. Aragorn took a long sip of his wine, looking as if he was contemplating taking out his pipe. He might as well, the seriousness of the court had been long forgotten already. 

Sighing, the king reached into the pocket of his breeches and did just that, taking the pipe out, along with a small bag of pipe weed. Seeing the little package, Pippin’s eyes lit up.    
“Your royal Aragornness!” He called out, making the king groan in exasperation. “Could you look kindly upon your faithful, humble servant and share some of your royal pipe weed with him, oh the greatest of all kings? I’ve ran out.” He said, his voice getting more and more elated the longer he went on. Aragorn finished filling up his pipe, before he took the bag into his hand and contemplated his response.    
“It depends, will my  _ humble servant _ stop the flow of all those unnecessary titles?” He asked, smirking. Pippin nodded solemnly.    
“Your high Aragornness, you have my word, my heart, and the leg of this fine rabbit right here,” he said seriously, pointing his half-finished meal. Aragorn snorted, tossing him the bag.    
“Keep the rabbit.” 

“Very well,” Pippin said, grabbing the bag eagerly. He took out some of the weed and started to stuff it inside his pipe. “Where were we…”   
“We were on Faramir,” Legolas reminded him, sipping from his cup.    
“Ah yes!” The Hobbit smiled, nodding, then turned to the steward.  Faramir could feel himself blush madly again. He was definitely not used to getting so much attention. “Would you not agree, Faramir, that  _ Aragorn _ here would be much more comely with his beard trimmed and his hair washed on regular intervals?” He asked, pointing at the king. Faramir frowned, following Pippin’s gaze. 

Aragorn looked good…  _ more than good.  _ Maybe his hair could use a little more care, but it looked reasonably clean. It certainly seemed good enough flowing from under the crown, the dark strands standing in stark contrast to the cold silvery shine of mithril.  And Aragorn’s beard was a bit long now, but it was nothing compared to Gimli or Mithrandir - he had a long way to go, still. Besides, Faramir would love to thread his fingers through it, let his nails scrape and tug at the first touches of gray appearing between the dark hair… 

With a start, Faramir realized that he had been looking in a daze at his king,  _ daydreaming about him, _ in front of the whole table of guests. He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks redden further, before he lowered his gaze to his own lap. This was no way to act around the king.   
“See, Aragorn?” Gimli asked from across the table. “If you but took a little more care about your looks, you would have Faramir’s heart!” The Dwarf said, making Faramir blush even more.  _ Did they know that he was helplessly attracted to his king? Had he been so obvious? What would Elessar think?  _   
“Gimli, please,” Aragorn pleaded next to him. “You are making Faramir uncomfortable.”   
“Aye, I did not want to do that,” Gimli said, his tone turning a bit more gentle. “Forgive me, my lad. I merely wished to tell this stubborn oaf that he needs to do something instead of only making sweet eyes at you,” the Dwarf explained. 

Faramir nodded mechanically, not trusting himself to speak.  _ Could it be possible that the king felt something towards him as well? _ He risked a glance at Elessar, noticing immediately that the king’s cheeks were faintly pink. He was staring at Faramir, his eyes dark, and the steward suddenly found it hard to breathe. He coughed, then reached for his wine. Aragorn bit his lip and turned his head back to the table, grabbing a piece of meat right in front of him. He contemplated it for a moment, before he sank his teeth into it, tearing out a piece and chewing it thoughtfully. 

“See that, Gimli?” Legolas noted, his voice sounding bored. “He is doing it again. Staring, and staring, and  _ staring… _ Aragorn, I know that you have taken Arwen’s departure hard, but the kingdom needs two people ruling it. If not a queen, then maybe an additional  _ king _ would be a good idea? You should try to find a way into our dear Faramir’s heart!” The Elf pointed out, waving his hands at the steward. 

“Besides,” Gimli added, chewing a piece of bread, looking thoughtfully at Aragorn. “You have to admit that it is far better to engage wholly, instead of waving your sword single-handedly,” the Dwarf concluded, his voice low. Faramir went very still - did he just…? He knew that they had gone through a lot together during their quest, but did it justify such lewd comments? And made towards the  _ king, _ nevertheless? 

The topic was so inappropriate, Faramir was ready to look down again, his face burning, when Aragorn started to cough violently, choking on a piece of meat he had been eating. Panicked, Faramir stood up next to the king, then thumped him strongly on the back. It took a few well-aimed hits, but Aragorn finally managed to clear his airways. 

“Thank you,” he rasped, looking up at Faramir, his eyes wide. The steward stood there entranced, his hand still resting on his king’s back, soaking up the warmth palpable even through the heavy robes he was wearing. Aragorn’s eyes were almost magical, shining with a curious sort of light, dark like the depths of Anduin. They lured Faramir closer, beckoned him to lean in and…

“Oh Valar, just kiss him!” Legolas’ voice sounded somewhere in the background, and Faramir jumped away as if burned. He looked around, noticing that everyone at the table was staring at him. 

What was he thinking?  _ Was he thinking at all?  _ Feeling his face reddening further, he hurriedly excused himself and walked away, disappearing in the dark corridor. He did not look over his shoulder, intent on getting away from all those people, stepping forward stubbornly, until his feet refused to carry him onwards. He stopped near a narrow niche surrounded by two columns, a statue of one of the ancient kings displayed proudly between them. Faramir gazed at it, his mind immediately latching on the similarities between the figure and king Elessar. Their features were very much alike - a strong, straight nose, noble forehead and long, flowing hair. Whoever had depicted one of the previous kings had had a very good eye for details - the lips looked soft and the beard was almost real. 

_ How could Faramir think someone with such a noble lineage would be interested in being with him?  _ Aragorn had lost his love - Arwen Undomiel had sailed to the undying lands shortly after the war had ended - and if he was to take on another lover, it would probably be a queen. Definitely not his steward, no matter what Aragorn’s friends had to say on the matter. 

_ Why had they said all those things anyway? _ It was highly inappropriate to speak in such a manner to one’s king, Faramir knew. Nobody had ever dared to, not without losing their heads afterwards, what had been described in the tiniest details in the chronicles afterwards. Of course, Faramir knew that they were all close friends, that they had known Aragorn for a long time before he had become the King of Gondor, but to ridicule him like  _ this? _ Maybe Faramir himself had given them a reason? Maybe it was because he had been looking at Aragorn too long? Staring too hard? Mayb-

“Faramir!” A voice from behind startled him, and the steward jumped away, swirling around, his fingers reaching for the bow he did not have with him. “Easy…” Aragorn said, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture. Faramir let out a slow breath.    
“Sire? Is there anything you need?” He asked levelly, his tone carefully shaped through years of living with his father. Aragorn winced, shaking his head slightly.    
“I merely wished to speak with you. Are you alright?”    
“Why would I not be alright, my lord?” Faramir asked back, surprised not by the question itself, but rather at Aragorn’s concern.    
“My friends… that band of orcs that is sitting with us at the table,” he corrected himself with a self-deprecating smile, “can be rather forward when it comes to words sometimes.”    
“I managed to see that, yes,” Faramir muttered, looking down.    
“I assure you, they had no bad intentions…” Aragorn went on, taking a step towards the steward. 

_ No, do not come closer, I will not be able to stop myself then,  _ Faramir thought desperately, consequently taking a step back. The heel of his foot hit the wall behind him.    
“I hope they did not insult you?” Aragorn’s eyes were wide, glimmering and shining brightly in the half-darkness of the corridor around them. Faramir swallowed heavily.    
“I was rather concerned about them insulting  _ you, _ my king.”    
“Is it an insult, if the words are true?” Elessar asked quietly, his gaze drifting to Faramir’s, before he lowered it to the few inches of the tiled floor separating them. 

Faramir’s mouth went slack. 

Here was Aragorn, King Elessar Telcontar, the highest and noblest of all men in Arda, standing in front of him with the apparition of a schooled stable boy, biting his lip in uncertainty, waiting for Faramir to answer.    
“True, my king?” He parroted, needing Aragorn to be a bit clearer about the matter.  _ Which words? True how? _   
“They are right, I do stare at you a lot… And I would not mind kissing you, as Legolas had so eloquently suggested… I would even like to make you into a king, if that were possible, Faramir,” Aragorn explained, his voice but a shushed murmur, and Faramir was glad that the corridor they were standing in was deserted, otherwise he might not have heard a word of it. 

Faramir was once again rendered speechless by what his king said, the implications of his meaning making the steward’s head swim.  _ Was it really possible?  _   
“Forgive me, I spoke out of turn,” Aragorn mumbled out finally, looking to the side briefly, before he focused his gaze back on Faramir. The breath caught in the younger man’s chest, threatening to suffocate him.    
“No, my lord,” he managed to choke out, “‘tis quite alright. I take no offense in what you have just said…” He somehow added, hoping he was not blushing as furiously as his burning cheeks led him to believe. 

Aragorn sighed, then nodded decisively and turned away as if to walk back to the dining hall. Faramir’s heart almost stopped, squeezing painfully in his chest, calling out to his king to remain with him. He knew that this was his only chance to set the matters between them straight, the only chance he could get at expressing his desires. If the king walked away now, they would never breach the subject ever again. 

Hastily, the steward reached out and grabbed Aragorn’s wrist, holding him in place. Elessar turned to him, surprised, his gaze drawn to where Faramir’s fingers were encircling his forearm.    
“Faramir?” He asked, slowly dragging his eyes up in confusion. The steward swallowed the lump in his throat, trying not to let his nerves show. Then, mustering up all the courage he was capable of, Faramir finally said what had been on his mind for quite some time.   
“I would like it,” he whispered softly, just loud enough for the king to hear. “I think making me a king is a bit much, my lord, but I would like it if you kissed me.” That said,  he looked up defiantly, years spent with his father coming forward again, telling him to accept whatever fate would be bestowed upon him with dignity fitting the Steward of Gondor.

Aragorn just stood there, staring at him, while seconds crawled by unnoticed.    
“Truly?” He asked at last, the word but a breath leaving him, barely more than the soft susurrus of leaves outside one of the great windows of the citadel. Blinking once, Faramir gave a nod. 

The next thing he knew, the king was turning back to him in a whirl of dark robes, his hands shooting forward, fingers latching on Faramir’s clothes. They gripped the dark blue material with force while Aragorn’s arms pushed, trapping the steward between the wall and his king.    
“My lo-” But Faramir could not finish his question, he was not even sure what he wanted to ask in the first place, because Aragorn’s body pressed closer, his mouth seeking out Faramir’s, and in a blink of an eye, the steward found himself being kissed madly by his king. 

In just a brief moment it became apparent that Aragorn kissed just like he fought \- quick, sure movements, filled with passion and determination. Faramir had no choice but to oblige - not that he was inclined to push his king away, quite the opposite, in fact. He settled his own hands on Aragorn’s shoulders, letting them travel down and over Elessar’s back, moaning when the action prompted the man to kiss him deeper. Aragorn moaned when Faramir’s fingers found a split in his robes and sneaked underneath, brushing over the soft material of his undershirt.    
“Faramir,” he mumbled against his steward’s lips, blindly licking between them again, his whole body falling against Faramir’s frame, pushing him into the cold wall. The steward tightened his hold on him, shivering with the wild energy thrumming through him. 

“My king,” he breathed, once Aragorn broke for air.    
“Aragorn,” Elessar corrected him, his voice almost pleading, eyes shining like tiny stars. Faramir smiled, taking in his king’s appearance, the way the crown sat upon his brow with a silvery glint of precious mithril, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled in unbidden happiness, the way his lips had turned dark pink and glistening from the kisses they shared. Suddenly, Faramir was not cautious anymore - did not  _ see the point of being so _ \- not, when his king looked so unabashedly delighted.    
“Aragorn,” he conceded with a smile, leaning in and capturing the king’s mouth in a kiss again. Aragorn groaned, closing his eyes and giving up what control he had still had. He lined his body up with Faramir’s, and the steward could not help the surprised gasp that tore itself from his lips when he felt his king’s arousal pressing into his hip, hard and unyielding, much like the man himself. Presented with such a, well…  _ obvious _ argument, Faramir let himself relax, taking down the walls he had build around himself through many years. 

He shifted his own hips forward, arching his back with a quiet moan when his own groin collided with Aragorn’s. The king inhaled sharply, then pulled away from his mouth. Still staying close, Aragorn rested his forehead on Faramir’s, his hands finding their way to the steward’s jaw and cradling it gently. The king’s nose was so close to Faramir’s they were touching, and Aragorn inclined his head just a tiny bit to rub them together. It made the steward smile - such a silly thing, but speaking greatly about his king’s tenderness and affection.    
“Later? When the guests are gone and we can retire… will you come to my chambers?” Aragorn asked quietly. Faramir frowned, thinking that he did not really care about the feast anyway and, going by the state of Aragorn’s breeches, he cared little for it, too. “We cannot do it now, lest you wish to have an audience,” the king added, his eyes drifting to the side. Instinctively, Faramir turned his head that way, gasping when he saw a figure leaning casually against a wall a few yards away from them. 

“Are you two done, or should I tell the others that you will not be joining us for the dessert?” Legolas snarked, grinning widely enough to let his teeth shine in the darkened corridor. Faramir groaned, hiding his face in Aragorn’s shoulder.    
“Do you not know the concept of  _ privacy _ in Mirkwood, Legolas?” Aragorn asked with a mildly irritated sigh. The Elf chuckled.    
_ “The Woodland Realm. _ And yes, we know it. I decided to ignore it, because the others were worried about the two of you,” Legolas replied, amusement evident in his voice. “Unnecessarily, it seems.”    
“Valar help me,” Aragorn muttered, pulling away from Faramir, but not far enough to break all the contact between them. He looked expectantly at his steward, taking in the blush high on his cheeks. “What say you, Faramir?” He asked. Faramir cleared his throat thoughtfully. The heat of the moment was lost on them certainly, but he was sure that it would not take a lot to bring it back after the evening was done and the night began. He nodded.    
“I think it would be best if we returned, else they send in the Hobbits, and then we would be in real trouble.” The response made Aragorn snort, his eyes shining happily when Faramir glanced at him.    
“Come on, then. Let’s get this dessert over with…” Aragorn said, stepping back, letting the younger man pass. When they were barely an inch apart, he leaned in and whispered quickly into Faramir’s ear. “Though I’d much prefer  _ you _ as the dessert.” 

Faramir had to concentrate really hard not to stumble on his way back to the dining hall. Thankfully, a few moments later, they arrived at the table without any incidents, the both of them very glad that their robes were long and heavy enough to hide the incriminating details from the prying eyes of others.   
“You found them!” Merry exclaimed happily, raising his cup to a very pleased Elf. Legolas grinned, bowing theatrically, before he looked at Aragorn and Faramir, who had just now stepped up to their seats.    
“I believe we should congratulate our king and his steward,” Legolas said, the wide smile never fading from his face. 

Aragorn sighed, but chanced a glance at Faramir. The steward was standing mostly still, except for his eyes darting towards Elessar, looking just a bit nervous. Everyone was watching them curiously, eyes staring right at the pair, expecting an explanation of what the Elf had just said. It took a longer moment, but Faramir finally turned to Aragorn, sending him a look of such confusion mixed with fear, that the king automatically leaned into him. Aragorn’s hands went to Faramir’s jaw, and the steward gasped when their lips met in a slow, sensual kiss. It was soft and deep, and way too scandalous to be done in front of half of the king’s court. 

But, just as Faramir wanted to pull away, Aragorn made a curious sort of noise deep in his throat - a sound that told Faramir just how desperate the king himself was for this. Aragorn’s fingers shifted, one palm traveling to the back of Faramir’s head and threading through the wild mane of his hair. All the while, Elessar was imperceptibly moving closer to him, until their bodies were touching on the front, their warmth palpable even through the heavy robes. It lasted a few long moments - maybe an eternity - and Aragorn kept on kissing him, a delightful press of lips and a careful touch of his tongue. With a sigh, the steward relaxed, telling himself that if Aragorn thought it was okay, he had no reason to question it. Hesitating only for a few seconds, he let his own arms encircle his king’s waist, keeping him close, enjoying the way Aragorn hummed in answer to the touch. 

Suddenly, the air around them exploded with wild shouts and hoots - Aragorn’s merry band of friends acting like a troupe of very excited orks, indeed. Faramir almost pulled away, but the cries flowing to him were decidedly merry, so he remained where he was, letting himself be kissed by a very happy king. 

 


End file.
